


The seventh day

by Buttons15



Series: Pharmercy [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a sleepless Angela has to deal with how people act really different late at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The seventh day

It was 0211 and Angela Ziegler was unable to sleep. At nights like these, back from the battlefield and with watchpoints on high alert, shutting her brain down was downright impossible and she knew it. And so she would sit on her chair for hours on end, her research sprawled over the desk, and she would calculate z-scores and p-values and reflect upon melatonin versus cortisol until exhaustion beat the rush, and she could finally drop dead on her bed to sleep an hour, maybe two.

 _There is something vaguely surreal about the world this late at night,_ she pondered, absently rolling her pen over the table. She closed her eyes to better listen to the sounds of silence, her own breathing being the loudest noise to reach her ears until abruptly she could hear footsteps.

The blonde let her eyes flutter open, not at all surprised that others would be up this late – insomnia was not, by far, exclusive to her. She knew the presence of another did nothing to break the nameless spell – to the contrary, those who visited the medical bay after midnight usually did so precisely because the veils of reality were a little bit thinner and the masks they kept were dropped, sometimes on purpose, most often not.

The woman had been there long enough to see the alternate version of each of her companions. She’d seen Jesse cry over lives he’d taken without hesitation a few hours earlier. She’d seen cheery and energetic Lena sit unnaturally still and turn into someone equal parts cold and melancholic. She’d seen Hana, their local sun of charisma and optimism, hug herself in fear and insecurity.

In the depths of the night, only Angela herself remained unchanged. She was always The Doctor. She was always Mercy. Doctors were still doctors at night, and she’d been initiated in the habit of four AM emergencies way back in college. Now, more than twenty years later, she’d been that person nonstop for so long, she wasn’t even sure she had a face behind the mask anymore.

She heard the door slide open and took a sip of the now-cold chamomile tea on her mug before turning the chair around to look at the visitor.

 _And then there’s her,_ Angela mused, smiling.

“Fareeha,” she greeted, mildly humored by the woman’s absolutely disheveled face, featuring sweatpants, flipflops and a t-shirt two sizes too big, her hair sticking up on every direction and sleep in her eyes. “You look lovely.”

 “Ha-ha,” the other replied, rubbing her eyes and letting out a wide yawn.

“To what do I owe you the visit?” the blonde queried, stretching on her chair and moving as if to stand.

“Uh…” Fareeha scratched her own head and frowned as if she was not sure herself. Angela could all but see the little gears turning inside her head. “…just wanted to know if you were awake…?”

She took a glimpse at the watch on her wall. “What, at two twenty-three in the morning? Are you kidding me?” she paused. “ _Ja klar,_ I’m awake.”

The Egyptian rolled her eyes and stumbled her way to the desk. “One of those nights. Restless.”

“ _Helden schlafen nicht,_ ” Mercy muttered, earning a scoff from her friend. “One of those nights indeed. Make yourself comfortable, if you will.”  She pushed her glasses up her nose, then rolled the chair back to her desk, picking the pen up. Her trail of thought was sluggish and cut short when she felt Fareeha rest a chin on top of her head.

_Maybe a little less comfortable –_

“Whadda doin’?”  the brunette interrupted, wrapping one arm around the blonde’s neck and reaching out with the other to grab a couple random sheets of paper from the desk. She squinted at the annotations. “What’s this?”

Angela snatched the papers from the other’s hands and bunched them back into a pile. “Those are the ANOVA and odds-ratio analysis for my latest nanite prototype –”

“Blah, blah, blah –”

“ – statistical calculations,” she summarized, resisting the urge to slap Fareeha’s hand when the woman picked up another file. Calm, serious and reserved Pharah during the day… and an absolute _child_ when she couldn’t sleep at night.

“…can’t have Athena do this for you?” the Egyptian mumbled.

“I did,” Angela retorted, resting her cheek on the woman’s inner arm. “I’m just…checking them over.”

A moment of silence.

“You’re checking over the supercomputer’s maths.” The brunette remarked blankly. “Winston would be offended.”

 Mercy stared at the triple integral hastily scrawled on the pages of lineless paper for almost five seconds, trying to come up with a witty remark, then accepted she was too tired for it and went with candid honesty instead. “Ja, I just… find the exercise soothing,” she admitted.

“…nerd.”

“Guilty,” she agreed, because there was no point in denying it. Fareeha let go of her then, took a step to the side and pulled one of the desk’ drawers open, absently and curiously shuffling through it.

 _A child,_ she repeated to herself.

“Huh,” the Egyptian suddenly grunted, holding up a blister pack. Out of the ten pills, seven were gone. “Used to take this. Sleeping stuffs.” She squinted, staring at the medication, forming an expression of concern. “How many today?”

“None. That’s why I’m awake.” Angela sighed. “Zolpidem is not supposed to be taken for more than seven days in a row… which was exactly yesterday. I mean, I suppose there wouldn’t be too much harm in –” She yawned – and was abruptly picked up from her chair, strong arms lifting her up as if she were made of paper. “ _Scheiße –_ put me down!”

“No.”

_What._

“Fareeha,” Mercy hissed. “ _Kannst du bitte_ put me down. I have research to do.”

The brunette shook her head, stumbling to the door. “Sleep eight hours a day. Doctor’s orders.”

“Fareeha, _ich bin_ the doctor,” she protested, realized she’d switched to german halfway into the sentence, then gritted her teeth, looked up at the roof and counted to ten. Angela told herself to remember how calm Zenyatta was, how gentle she was taught to be back in Zurich, how her teachers had passed on to her the good values and how she should never, ever  lose her cool –

“This is not my bedroom.” The doctor stated. “This is your bedroom. _Fareeha_ –”

She was dropped down on a mattress and had half a mind to make a run for it right then and there, but the soldier was faster, wrapping an arm around the blonde’s waist and trapping her even as she plopped face first in bed.

“Sleep with me,” the other mumbled. Mercy would have flushed if she hadn’t been so sure it was a pure and candid request. “Pretty please? I have nightmares. Scared.”

The Egyptian gave her the puppy eyes, and she was not sure whether she found it more endearing or exasperating.

_Come on, Angela. You had three years of pediatrics. Two years of psychiatry. You can handle some aggravating behavior._

She chose to compromise.

“Okay.”

Fareeha lifted her head up in surprise. “…really?”

She gave her companion a light slap on the nape. “Oh I’m not staying, mind you, Lena would never drop _that_ , but _ja_ , okay. I’ll sing you to sleep.”

She turned her head and was met with wide and sheepish chocolate eyes. Fearsome Captain Amari blinked innocently. “Oh.”

Angela didn’t suppress a smile. Slowly shaking her head, she patted her lap. “ _Herkommen_.”

She was quite certain the woman didn’t really understand German, but her gesture was enough, and Fareeha inched closer and nestled her head on the blonde’s legs, pulling a blanket over. The doctor slid her fingers between locks of dark hair and rubbed gentle circles on the scalp.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to the past, to times when life was simpler and her only concerns were what Santa would bring in for Christmas. She didn’t usually feel nostalgic, but it was late and reality was a little bit bent, after all.

 _“O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter,”_ she whispered each word, knowing she was out of tune but not caring much. _“Du grünst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit, nein, auch im Winter, wenn es schneit –”_

“Sounds like… really softly cursing” Fareeha slurred. “Tender mad words.”

The grin on her face was involuntary. “Shhh, Schatz. I won’t have you dissing my language.” She gave a light tug on the other’s hair and got a whimper in response. _“Die Hoffnung und Beständigkeit gibt Trost und Kraft zu jeder Zeit –_ ”

“…mmmh…nightmares with angry germans –”

The sentence was left incomplete, cut short just like that, when the woman fell asleep. Angela didn’t stop the gentle caress, not until she was done with the song, and then she planted a chaste kiss on top of Fareeha’s forehead and tucked her in.  It was past three in the morning and she couldn’t even eloquently pick a language to think in anymore, but on her way out, her brain found the energy to spit out one last epiphany of self-knowledge.

_No mask to drop?_

Angela judged that something worth thinking about…at another time, maybe.

 _“Träum_ _mit den Engeln,”_ she murmured on her way out, turning off the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> I have this headcanon that Angela mixes up the english and the german when she's tired, but I haven't spoken a word of german for so long I can barely remember how do I use verbs, so es tut mir leid to all of you legit speakers for butchering the language;  
> The song is "O Tanembaum" and you can hear it on youtube, but it's basically the german version of "We wish you a merry christmas";  
> Also I kinda want to write the late at night meeting with Lena because I lowkey ship Tracer and Mercy, but that's a story for another time.


End file.
